


Netflix and...Brownies?

by BrokenWings0712



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Drabble, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Quarantine, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenWings0712/pseuds/BrokenWings0712
Summary: Based on a Twitter Texts From Last Night PromptSam is tired of waking up at God knows what hour to the sound of Dean's tv, but when he goes to confront his brother, he finds something unexpected.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 111





	Netflix and...Brownies?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Destiel work, and I know ya'll are used to higher quality content than this, but when Mich puts a prompt like that on Twitter, who am I to neglect her--especially when the story all but wrote itself.

_“Dr. Sexy. Paging Dr. Sexy.”_

Sam glared at the clock and rolled over, tugging his pillow over his ears as he went. Three nights. That’s how long he’d been waking up to Dean’s tv blaring at some weird hour, and he was done. Quarantine or not, he intended to keep his sleep schedule somewhere within the realm of “normal.”

 _“And just what do you have to say for yourself?”_ Dr. Piccolo’s voice asked. Sam growled and pressed the thick cotton harder to his skull, but it did little to drown out actors’ voices.

 _“The patient was dying,”_ Dr. Sexy replied, and Sam could just imagine the guy’s smug expression. _“Would you have done any different?”_

There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh—hard, likely a smack to the face if he remembered correctly—and then Dr. Piccolo shouting, _“You’re crazy!”_

_“Crazy for you.”_

“That’s it!”

Sam flung the pillow across the room and marched down the hall as fast as his overgrown legs would carry him, yelling as he went. “Dean! Dean, turn it down!” He banged his fist on the door, and when he didn’t get an immediate answer, he shoved the heavy wood open. “Dammit, Dean, it’s two in the mor—”

Nothing.

The room was totally empty, the only sign of life being the characters making out on the big screen mounted to the wall. Just to be sure, Sam reached in and flipped the light. Various wrappers littered the floor around the bed, dishes were piled precariously on the side table, and it reeked of socks and sheets in desperate need of a wash, but no Dean.

“Huh.”

His eyebrows pulled together, and he glanced toward both ends of the hall, half expecting his brother to come ambling around the corner with his arms full of snacks and a six-pack dangling from his fingertips, but even after waiting nearly a minute, no one appeared.

Curiosity firmly stoked, Sam made his way methodically through the bunker checking first the bathroom and then the dungeon before heading for the library. Dean wouldn’t admit it, but he was as much of a reader as Sam, and more than once he’d caught the older Winchester nose deep in a thick tome in the wee hours of the morning, especially if Cas was around to join him. Luckily, the angel hadn’t left town since the pandemic really broke loose in Kansas, so maybe if Sam found Cas, Dean wouldn’t be far behind.

He snorted and shook his head. Those two were practically joined at the hip these days, but as far as Sam knew, neither had taken that first step toward something more. Ridiculous if you asked him. Love like that was rare for anyone, but for a hunter to find someone special, someone not only willing to work through the rough patches but could also hack the life, was, well, practically impossible. Yet Dean had.

And the idiot was too dumb to follow through.

Stepping up into the library, Sam inhaled the comforting scent of old paper, leather binding, and the faint remains of cof—chocolate? Opening his eyes, he sniffed again and made a beeline for the kitchen. Once there, he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh that bubbled to the surface.

“What?” Dean snapped, not looking up from the batter as he angrily worked a spatula through it.

Sam opened his mouth to reply but found he had no words for the scene in front of him. His brother scraped the sides of the bowl, bare chest flexing under his plaid apron. A fine dusting of flour coated his forearms as well as the table around him, and a multitude of baking ingredients had been pulled from the cabinets and were currently scattered across most available surfaces save for where a couple of square pans were lined up and waiting. A timer went off, and as Dean turned to silence his phone, Sam’s calm demeanor shattered.

“Are you… _naked?!_ ”

His brother grabbed a couple of oven mitts and jerked them on before pulling a pan out of the oven and all but tossing it on the stove with a bang. “What if I am, huh? What’s it to you? What are you even doing up?”

Sam gestured over his shoulder. “Your tv was on, and I just, uh…” Dean stomped back over to the table and picked up the spatula as Sam’s face stretched in a grin so wide it hurt. “I don’t understand, _why are you naked?!_ ”

“It’s fucking 2020, I should be able to watch Netflix nude and make brownies without you getting preachy about it!” Chocolate batter spattered across the floor in a wide arc, and Dean huffed before stooping to wipe it up with a towel. The skirt of the apron shifted with the movement, and Sam quickly turned his eyes to the ceiling to avoid certain dangly bits. “Damned quarantine,” Dean muttered. “Ain’t got nothing to do ‘cause even the monsters are staying off the streets.”

“Whoa, sorry. I was just checking to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. I didn’t realize you were in a mood.”

“I’m not in a mood!” Sam’s signature bitchface slid into place, and Dean slumped into a seat. Cradling his head in his hands, he took a steadying breath. “I’m not in a mood,” he repeated, his voice no more than a whisper. “I’m fine.”

“Dean?” Sam pursed his lips, unsure if he should broach the subject but also keenly aware that something had gone horribly wrong while he’d slept. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

“Out,” came the inflectionless reply.

Ah.

“What happened?”

Dean ran a hand down his face and stared up at his younger brother with a look that said he’d rather suffer another forty year tour downstairs than talk about this, but eventually he huffed and pushed himself to his feet, bowl in hand. “We, uh, we had a fight.” Pouring the batter into one of the prepared pans, he shrugged and lightened his tone—though it still came out a bit strained. “It didn’t end well, and he left. So.”

Sam watched his brother work, carefully avoiding his bare ass when he turned his back on him because yeah, that’s more than he wanted to see, but when was Dean ever so willing to talk with him? Hazel eyes fell on an uncapped bottle of black label in the corner, and he watched as Dean took a swig. Okay, so maybe his emotional gates were a bit…lubricated. Still, he wasn’t stumbling around and still appeared mostly clear-eyed, so he couldn’t be too far gone yet.

“What kind of fight?” Sam prodded.

“Does it matter?” Dean mumbled. “Dude’s gone, and I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Well, have you tried calling him?”

“…No.”

“That’s because you’re a stubborn ass.” Both Winchesters spun around as the angel in question brushed by a grinning Sam and made directly for the baker. Stopping just inches away, he continued, “You’re irritating on your best days, Dean Winchester.”

Dean licked his lips and swallowed, leaning hard on the edge of the counter and staring a hole in the floor. “And on my worst?”

Cas’s face softened, and he cupped Dean’s jaw, tilting his face up to look him in the eye just as a lone tear made its way down the side of Dean’s nose. Sam took that as his cue to start easing out of the room, but if he hung around the corner to hear Cas’s reply, who could blame him?

“On your worst, you’re still a better man than most, and I’ll take you on those days, too.”

The younger Winchester all but melted right there, but then—

“Dean, why are you naked?”

“Dammit, I have _needs_ , okay?!”

Sam snickered and stuffed his hands in his pockets before ambling back to his room, confident the two losers in the kitchen would be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments or constructive criticism? Let me know! Thanks for reading!


End file.
